


honey, with you is the only honest way to go

by ElbridgeGerry



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, First Time, Getting Together, Smut, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElbridgeGerry/pseuds/ElbridgeGerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia's feelings for Barba crest after his courtroom outburst at the dismissal of charges against Evie Barnes' rapist; they have some challenges to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had come on slowly, but hit her all at once. She'd been feeling differently around him for the past couple of months, suddenly hyper-aware of his movements, his relation to her in a room, the way he responded to her in words and in actions, the little things he did that seemed to go the extra mile: bringing her (and only her) a cup of coffee in the morning, bringing her favourite bottle of Cabernet for the long nights of reviewing trial details (always at her apartment), the way he would bring Noah's favourite food over, or play with him when he was restless, the way he made it feel like it was only the two of them in a room, even in the middle of a bustling city pavement.

The truth was, by the time she realised what was happening, she was so far gone she couldn't dig herself out if she wanted to.

It all came to a head at what was supposed to be the sentencing hearing for Evie Barnes' rapist. It had gone down unlike anything else she'd experienced in her fifteen-odd years with SVU. The jury, against the odds, had convicted the boy, and the judge had taken it upon himself to throw the verdict out. She was ready to jump out of her seat (or her skin), but Barba beat her to the punch: "Your honor, this is an outrageous abuse of your power," he practically yelled, already on his feet. "There is no basis to overturn this conviction. Her testimony, the corroborator's testimony...–" The judge cut him off, and then one more time after Barba raised his voice again. The judge lectured Evie about respecting her body and herself (as if her rapists were actually worshipping her when they brutalised her), Barba announced that he was filing an immediate appeal, and the judge struck the gavel, all in the blink of an eye. They shuffled Evie out of the courthouse, the poor girl leaving them before Olivia could properly speak to her.

She was, truthfully, as shocked by the judge's behaviour as by Barba's. She had always known Barba wasn't an unenlightened man (no one who successfully prosecuted two pimps on the words of prostitutes did so without at least a whisper of a throughly modern attitude) but she had also always known him to defer to the establishment, never in a million years did she expect him to get into a yelling match with a sitting judge in a crowded courtroom.

The air outside the courthouse was cool, the first waves of autumn rolling in, but her face was hot from anger and a flurry of other emotions she was fiercely fighting to control. She turned to Barba, placing her hand on his bicep (an innocuous gesture, she'd done this a million times before).

  
"Come over tonight. We'll go through the appeal." The appeal wasn't her prerogative, she knew that, he _definitely_ knew that, but he still nodded at her, looking ever so slightly dazed.

_________________________________

 

So she gets chewed out by Dodds, finds out Evie has disappeared to New Hampshire, dispatches Carisi and Rollins to find her, and somehow, likely by an act of God, manages to make it to her apartment by ten. She relieves Lucy and takes a moment to cradle Noah, staring out the window, whispering words of love to him. She wonders what kind of world her baby is going to grow up in, what she has to do to make sure he never ends up like those boys. Noah starts yawning a whirlwind up, so she reluctantly works through his bedtime routine with him, longing for just a few more solitary moments to cuddle her beautiful baby boy.

After he's asleep and she's had her requisite minutes to watch his sleeping form (there's no feeling in the world like watching him breathe calmly in spite of it all), she pulls out her phone.  
"Barba." He must not have checked his caller ID, he never answers like that when he knows she's on the line.   
"It's me, you still up for coming over? I just got Noah down."  
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be over as soon as I can." He sounds less shell shocked than he did earlier in the day. That's a good sign she thinks, she needs someone to drag her out of her mournful reverie.

_________________________________

 

He's at her door at just after eleven, and she's already changed into yoga pants and a sweatshirt, desperate for some creature comforts after a hellacious day. They work through the necessary niceties and she pours them both two fingers of scotch while he sheds his suit jacket and loosens his tie. They make small talk as they both relax into their drinks, and it's the first time all day she's been able to properly consider his behaviour in the courtroom (and her reaction).  
"You know, Barba, I didn't really get to thank you."  
"For what? Liv, we lost." He looks tired, like he's been hit with a lot more than a lost case today.  
"I know, but what you said to the judge today, I didn't think you had it in you."  
"I'm hurt." She looks at him, and they both laugh.  
"I guess, even now, I'm underestimating you in some ways. It's hard to square the guy who made the 'take your daughters to work day' remark with the man who stood up for a victim like that." She's thinking out loud and while she knows he's used to this, but he's not making eye contact with her anymore.  
"I've learned a lot from you," he says, staring straight ahead, "more than you know, really."

The atmosphere in the room palpably changes, and she knows that she's going to have to be the first one to acknowledge it, summoning up what little bravery and energy she has left in her after the monster of a week she's just survived.  
"How many drinks have you had tonight?" She asks, taking a sip of hers and setting it down on the coffee table.  
"Just this, why?" He shakes his head a bit, almost like he's waking himself up, and looks at her.  
"I really need you to be sober for this," she says.

And she kisses him.

Her mind, which had previously been screaming at her, has gone conspicuously silent.

At first, he does nothing, and she starts to panic, her extremities going cold and her heart dropping a foot in her chest. She tries to pull away, but she's stopped by Barba's hand at the back of her neck, pulling her in, holding her down. He pulls her into his lap, and she lets her knees fall to the couch on either side of his waist. His tongue glides across her lips before the rest of her body has gotten the message to abandon panic mode.

She needs air, pulling away from him and leaning her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry," she whispers against his lips.  
"Don't, Liv, don't," he replies, still holding her head to his. "Don't try and overthink this more than I already am."

She can't help but laugh, both at the ridiculousness of the situation (tangled like teenagers on her couch) and at his honesty. "Please kiss me, before I start stringing coherent thoughts together again." And so he does.

Before she knows it, she's running her fingers down the column of buttons on his shirt, trying to get them off as quickly as possible without ripping them all. She wrenches the shirt from his shoulders, taking the suspenders down with it. It's her turn next, and he pulls her Henley up and over her head, leaving her only in her bra. She presses back down to him to kiss his jawline, and it's the first major skin-to-skin contact they've ever had. She can't think straight.

She sits back on his legs, breathing hard. She pushes errant strands of hair out of her face with the palm of her hand. His breathing is ragged and his face is flushed. It shouldn't be, but it's so goddamn sensual. (Is this really the first time she's noticing the light smattering of freckles across his nose?)  
"We should–" she gestures lamely towards her bedroom, breathing heavily.  
"Yeah," he responds, sounding just as winded.

 She takes his hand, pulling him into her bedroom, pausing a brief moment to be sure Noah is still asleep before closing her bedroom door. She presses him to the bed before reaching to turn the baby monitor on. It's not the sexiest of actions, but Barba needs to realise here and now exactly what it is he's getting himself into. Olivia is no longer a single woman, anyone who wants to be with her has to be prepared for the whole package.

To his credit, Barba only smiles at her, perhaps too sweetly given the overall tone of their evening, but Olivia appreciates it. She stands before him, her legs between his knees, and detaches his suspenders. She's seen him in various states of undress so many times, but never before with this degree of heat punctuating every movement. When she turns back from dropping his suspenders on the chair behind her, he catches her hands, kissing the insides of her wrists. It's another moment of faintly extrinsic sweetness, but she can't stop the smile that peals across her face.

She trails her fingers across the smattering of hair on his chest, fascinated by the way his breathing seems forced. She drags her index finger down the line of his abdomen (who knew lawyers could be this fit?). Again, he catches her hand, but this time he flips their position, pushing her down onto the bed. She hits the mattress and bounces, a girlish laugh escaping her before she can stop it.

He only smirks at her as he makes quick business of peeling her yoga pants off her, dropping them unceremoniously to the floor. He's so collected, she wonders if it's really been as long for him as she thinks. But who else could there possibly be? Not another ADA? A recent girlfriend? A random hookup? Is that even in his nature?

 She's wrenched from her worrying by the feeling of his lips against the inside of her knee, and then gradually higher and higher up her leg.

 He pauses at the apex of her legs, looking up at her for confirmation. She just nods, wrapping her fingers in his hair. It's been a while since she's been with a man, since Cassidy, since before she got Noah. There were times when she wondered if she'd ever feel this wet heat caused by anyone but herself.

His mouth is on her before she can feel self-conscious, his fingers spreading her wide. She can feel her legs trembling as the flat of his tongue laves against her again and again, wet and warm and everything she couldn't do by herself. He keeps going until she feels herself balancing on the edge of a precipice, desperate for release. She chokes out a warning and he immediately stops, leaving her to stifle a wanton groan with the back of her hand.

Slowly, carefully, meticulously, he inserts a finger into her, twisting ever so slightly. It's like how he speaks, precise and damning but somehow so effortless. He waits for her to respond before sliding a second finger in, this time curling them against her, and she's sure she practically tears some of his hair out in her attempt to remain in control. "Let go, Liv," he says, in the same tone he uses when he's telling her to get rest, or to do better casework. It's enough to get her to unravel, and she comes, biting down on the skin on the back her hand to prevent noise leaking out. He rides it out, his fingers still dutifully inside her, and he groans as her muscles clench repeatedly around him.

Her thighs are shaking as she disentangles her fingers from his hair (she's decided now that she prefers it longer) and whispers, "get up here," at him. He does, pressing a line of kisses to her skin before kissing her lips gently. It's too chaste compared to the bare sexuality of what he's just done to her, and when she tastes herself on his lips she practically blacks out. She would've hated that taste with any other man. But not now. 

He kisses her neck, the sweet spot just below her ear. She holds him to her with an open palm to the back of his head.

"Don't quit on me now, Barba," she whispers.

"You sure?" He lifts himself to look at her, and his usually lucent green eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide. She just nods.

"Protection?" He asks, his voice a little frantic, though she knows it's because of his proximity to her, not because of any real fears.

"In the drawer," she nods towards her nightstand, and he reaches in to grab a metallic packet out. The box has been in there since Cassidy, and while it feels like it's been a lifetime, she realises it hasn't been long enough for her to worry about the integrity of the condom.

"Liv, are you absolutely sure? Don't feel like you need to just because we've made it this far," he says, rolling the condom on. She smiles, he's almost quoting verbatim from one of her seminars.

"Completely." She proves it to him by reaching down between them to grab him, guiding him towards her.

He sucks in a sharp breath, resting on one forearm as he reaches down with his free arm to grab her hip, holding her in place. She gives him a quick kiss as he pushes inside of her, trying to keep her responses in check enough to keep her quiet. He pauses to let her adjust to the feeling of him inside her, and she lets him know she's ready by wrapping her legs around his back.

He hits that spot inside her immediately and she swears it has to be some sort of fluke. She sloppily catches his lips with hers, breathing out what would otherwise be a moan. The feeling of him moving inside of her so soon after her last orgasm is quickly becoming too much. Maybe she's getting old. Maybe they both are. She clenches her legs tighter around his back, encouraging him.

She's way too close, but desperate to not wake her sleeping baby on the other side of the wall, so she bites on her lip until she tastes the metallicky flavour of blood. "Liv, I'm–" Barba chokes out, and she thanks every deity in every pantheon she can think of that she can let go. She whispers the dirtiest thoughts she can in his ear and then cuts herself off in a breathy cry as she tumbles into another orgasm.

She comes so hard she can feel actual tears searing at her eyelids, and the motion of his hips is so erratic it feels like she'll never come down. Her chest is practically on fire, and she gasping for air and grasping for reality when his hips stutter, and he joins her over the edge. She clenches hard against him, and his moan sounds so defeated it would be funny if she could convince herself to think about anything but her own weightlessness.

When he regains consciousness, he pulls out of her with a slick sound, pulls the condom off, ties it, and tosses it into the plastic trash can at the foot of her bed. He collapses onto the mattress beside her, his breathing still laboured.

"Jesus Christ," she says, her voice raspy.

"Oh, he can't save you now," Barba replies, sounding remarkably wrecked. She rolls over to face him, laying her cheek down on his chest.

"We should probably talk about this," she says, tracing a lazy pattern on the skin of his stomach, watching as goosebumps appear after the pad of her finger passes over.

"Yeah, but not right now. I'm a little too speechless."

"Rafael Barba speechless? Well I must be better than I thought." He laughs.

"Heavy lies the crown, Liv."

 

She's smiling as she drifts off to sleep, enveloped in a sense of calm and security she hadn't felt in years. For now, this is enough.


	2. here comes a feeling you thought you'd forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

The first morning after; (she may have read about the importance of these in her once-a-decade indulgence in a copy of Cosmo) she hardly realises what's going on when she wakes up, the sun hasn't risen and neither, she assumes, has Noah. Instead, her cheek is resting on something far warmer than a pillow, and it takes her several moments for the events of last night to come back to her.

Her lower body aches in the best way possible, and she's profoundly grateful she hardly drank last night, sparing her from a nasty headache this morning. When she had gotten old enough to be knocked on her ass by a few glasses of wine she did not know, but this was her reality.

She rolls over so she can rest her chin on Barba's chest, grinning as he smiles down at her. He sets his phone down on the bedside table (Barba detached from his phone? Nothing short of a minor miracle) and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear.  
"Morning," she murmurs, still smiling.  
"Morning," he replies, equally smiley. She leans up to kiss him, and he cradles her cheek with his hand.  
"No regrets?" she whispers against his lips and he laughs.  
"None so far, though the case is still open," he says, grabbing her by her elbows and lifting her up onto him.

The wet heat from last night returns quickly when she feels him pressed against the inside of her thigh.  
"Oh, wow, it really is a good morning, isn't it, counsellor?" she jokes, leaning down to kiss him again.  
"Shut up, Liv." He smirks. She leans down, kissing him gently, only a little self conscious of her morning breath. He runs his hands up from her thighs to her hips to finally rest on her waist, running his thumbs along her stomach.

He tries to reach for the box on the bedside table, but she bats his hand away, laughing breathily at his confused face. She kisses the center of his chest, steadily moving her lips downwards as she looks up at him through her eyelashes. The flush that's spreading across his face fills her with immense pride, and she can only smile. She wonders how long it's been since she's felt like this. She decides: too long.

She doesn't give him warning when she takes him into her mouth, just hears his head hit the pillow with a soft  _floof_ that makes her giggle. She looks up at him, his eyes are closed tightly, his mouth fallen openly just slightly, his cheeks and nose flushed red. She could really get used to this view.

She licks a line up him, mentally cataloging the noises he makes, how his hips jerks when she hits what spot. She takes him completely into her mouth again, using her hands to do what she can't reach. His breath is ragged and his hips lift up to meet her, even as she forces him down with her free hand. When she looks up at him, he looks utterly destroyed. She tries not to power trip too hard.

As her head bobs up and down and up and down on him, she can tell he's desperately trying to keep his hands off her, let her stay completely in control. She licks his tip, blowing cool air across the wet spot, laughing at the strangled cry he bites down on his lip to muffle. "Let go," she says, repeating his words to her last night back at him.

And so, after a few more moments of her careful (and cruel) ministrations, he starts to let go.  
"Liv, Liv, Liv, stop I'm going to–" he chokes out, but she doesn't stop, choosing instead to redouble her efforts.  
"Liv," he tries again, desperately, but she doesn't stop, she doesn't move out of his way. When he comes, she swallows (something she's done only a few times in her life before), pressing his hips to the bed to help him ride it out as long as possible.

When he's done, she crawls up onto his chest, breathing louder than she wants to be, her hair sticking to the back of her neck. She's sure she's a sight to behold, so she avoids looking at any reflective surfaces.  
"Holy shit," is all he says, breathing like he's just run a marathon. When she thinks he's finally rediscovered the four walls of reality, she nods towards his phone, "What time is it?" He lifts it up, a little limp wristed, and reads the time off to her in a husky voice. His gravelly morning/post-orgasm voice is a sound she can get used to.

"Noah'll be up soon, I should shower," she says, sliding off him, a distinct weakness in her knees, "I'd invite you, but I think we're both a bit too old for that." He laughs, dropping his head down onto the pillow, "Thank god, there's only so much I can pretend to handle right now." She grins at him (when did she regress into a giddy teenager?), padding into the bathroom and closing the door.

The gravity of the situation starts to crash down on her with each scalding drop of water that hits her back. What she's just done – what they've just done – is cross a bridge they can't come back from. Even if they call it quits here, call it a lapse of judgement by two passionate people who were somewhat emotionally compromised, they're still going to have to face each other at least biweekly for god only knows how long.

And if they decide this isn't just a mistake, that somehow they're going to try and make this work? The likelihood that this ends up just like Hayden is too great for her to even think about. The stakes are so much greater here than they were with Hayden, though. If she loses Barba she loses one of her greatest confidants and one of the few people who have ever been able to spar with her.

She leans against the tile, feeling the hot water roll over her, down her spine, reminding her she's not dreaming anymore.

She has to be the one to put a stop to it before she gets herself hurt again. It's been a horrific year, there's only so much her heart can handle.

She steps out of the shower, toweling off quickly, pointedly ignoring the sight of her scars in the mirror. She has to give him credit for not making a big deal about it last night, it's all she can ever ask for anymore. She dresses, pulls her hair back into a banana clip and pulls open the door. She is immediately floored.

A half-dressed Barba sits on the edge of her unmade bed, bouncing an entranced-looking Noah on his knee. Olivia leans against the inside of the door, watching the scene unfold before her. Maybe, she considers, she had guessed right last night, maybe Barba really was willing to accept the whole package.

"Sorry, he woke up while you were in the shower, I didn't want to bother you," Barba says, smiling down at Noah.  
"No, no worries," she says, trying to mask the shock, awe, and affection in her voice.  
"And besides, we're having fun, aren't with _mijo_?" Noah beams up at him, and Olivia finds herself doing the same.  
"Well, it looks like you're handling him just fine, so I'll go get some breakfast on," she nods towards her kitchen. "Any specific requests?"  
"Whatever's easiest," he barely looks up from Noah, he's so enthralled with her baby's actions. Her heart couldn't be bursting with more contradictions right now if she tried.

She does some quick scrambled eggs and bacon, and all the while she can't stop herself from worrying about where the road in front of her goes. If she needs to end it with Barba now, she needs to get ahead of it, can't let herself be mystified by more moments with him and Noah acting like a family, can't let herself get too stuck in.

They'd only spent one night together and she's already planning five, ten years down the road. No one _ever_ told her this would happen when she became a mother.

"Liv, you're freaking out, aren't you?" He asks several minutes later, watching her practically bracing herself against the kitchen counter.  
"What? No."  
"Yeah, you are. Look, I'll go do the walk of shame back to my apartment, get cleaned up, and how about we take Noah out for a walk in the park? Figure things out?" She nods, silently, letting slip a smile she wishes she could retract, she can't let herself be happy with sadness this close on the horizon. He smiles back at her, tugging on his jacket and ducking out of her apartment.

_________________________________

 

Two hours later, with Noah bundled in his cutest autumn clothes, she meets Barba at the 66th Street entrance to Central Park. He kisses her on the cheek and hands her a fresh cup of coffee, and for a moment she is totally taken aback. When she pulls herself together, she smiles at him, and they push off into the park, Noah babbling happily in his stroller.

They walk in a comfortable silence, occasionally stopping to let Noah stare in wonder at birds and dogs and squirrels. When they find a bench isolated enough from the hustle and bustle of the park on a not-too-cold morning, they sit, Olivia pulling up Noah's stroller next to her.

She sighs, staring down at her coffee cup. A thin rivulet of steam swirls for the hole in the top. She can still feel the warmth of the coffee through her gloved hand, a welcome contrast to the brisk autumn morning.

She's never been hesitant when it comes to relationships, her philosophy has always been that it's better to get it all out there and deal with the reality of it upfront. But now? Now she can't convince herself to say what she's really feeling, fear is forcing her into silence.

Barba exhales, like he does when he's about to straighten his back and go face the firing line in the courtroom.  
"I don't think this was a mistake," he says, and she accidentally laughs at him. He's tap dancing already.  
"Neither do I," they catch each other's eyes for the briefest of seconds before looking back out at the lake.  
"This has the potential to get and be messy, but I think we're both capable of avoiding that." Neither of them are looking at each other, Barba's still looking out at the placid water and Olivia's distracting Noah with a bobble from his stroller.  
"I want to be with you, Liv, I can't tell you that isn't true. But there are certain things I can't sacrifice, and it feels almost ridiculous telling you this because I know you're thinking the same thing, but I can't sacrifice my work."

She tucks Noah more tightly in his blankets, running a finger along his rosy cheeks.  
"Do you remember David Haden?" she asks, looking at him.  
"Yeah, uh, the Manhattan EADA who resigned after the corruption scandal, right?" She sucks in a deep breath, she still has the urge to defend him, but now is not the time.  
"That's the one. Well–" she laughs again at the ridiculousness of the situation–"we had a brief relationship. We ended it when things started changing for him – he would've been leading an independent review of my cases and we never disclosed – we had to act as if it never happened. It wasn't love, but it was something. I don't want to," her voice catches in her throat, and she smiles despite herself, "I don't want to have this end up like that."

He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and laughs, his breath swirling up before him like the steam from Olivia's coffee cup. "Is that why you were freaking out?"  
"I was not _freaking out_ ," she says, mocking him. He just gives her a look, he's seeing right through her bullshit.  
"Okay, yes, fine. That's why I was freaking out. I don't want this – us – to become another thing that I have to pretend never happened. Emotionally I'm not sure I can handle that, and now with Noah? When I bring home men now it can't just be for fun, I can't let Noah grow up in a home with a revolving door of people, he doesn't deserve that and–"  
"Whoa, Liv, take a deep breath," he says, taking her free hand in his. "We don't need to do all of this at once, we can take our time with this, okay?"

Noah fusses in his stroller, and Liv lifts him out, setting him on her knees. "I'm sorry, I know I'm overreacting, but it's so much harder now."  
"Hey, hey, I know," he says, his voice calming. "Listen, if you're in this for the long haul, then so am I." She smiles at him, and he toys with Noah's chubby little hands.

They sit in silence, both fawning over Noah, who seems to have acclimated nicely to the cool air. The bizarreness of her outburst settles in around her, and she starts laughing, leaning her head onto Barba's shoulder as she laughs.  
"What's up?" he asks.  
"I dumped my emotional baggage on you after what was basically a one night stand. Can you imagine what I'll be like after a month?" He laughs.  
"Liv, I'm not exaggerating when I say that we've both seen each other at way, way crazier. We'll be fine."

As he so often is, he's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Horchata" by the inimitable Vampire Weekend


	3. hold me, in your everlasting arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just filler until I decide where exactly I want to go with this.

"So I did some research," he says, setting his briefcase down on his desk and unclicking the latches.  
"I'm shocked," she says sarcastically, sitting in one of the chairs facing his desk. He gives her his _I Wasn't Done Talking And You Know It_ look as he drops several Manila folders on his desk.  
"So I did some research," he repeats,"and there's actually quite a bit of precedent for a situation like ours." She watches his eyes flicker to his door, confirming it's closed.  
"But I'm guessing it's not good precedent," she says, running her fingers along the grain of the wood. He sighs.  
"It's both." It's her turn to sigh.  
"Okay, hit me, I can take it."  
"I'll start with the worst. In 2008, a Chicago prosecutor was suspended after her DA uncovered her seven year long relationship with a cop who had testified in at least a half dozen of her cases. Several of them were reopened and retried, and one of the convictions was overturned." Olivia sinks into the chair, panic crashing down on her. She lets out a deep breath, rubs her palm against the wooden arm of the chair.  
"So that's the bad news." Barba's still standing but she wishes he would sit, so she doesn't feel like she's in trouble. "The good news is that I went back and checked the guidelines from the National District Attorneys Association – that's basically our Bar Association – and if I've parsed the language correctly, as long as we disclose to the DA and 1PP, you're not my lead witness in any cases and we disclose to the judge during discovery for any cases you're testifying on, it shouldn't actually be that big of a deal. I'm sure it'll give 1PP some heartburn, but we're no strangers to that, are we?"

She smiles, it feels like a ten ton weight has been lifted off her chest. There are lots of implications for her work and career that she doesn't yet want to consider because, for now, this little bit of happiness is enough.

"Rita Calhoun is going to double check me, but I think we'll be fine." It feels like she's been hit in the spine with a sledgehammer.  
"Calhoun? Seriously?" He raises an eyebrow at her.  
"Rita is an excellent jurist, you know that. I trust her with this."  
Olivia stands, pulling her jacket off the chair. She knows that if she continues to do this she's going to have to get used to a certain level of embarrassment and probing into her personal life by people who would otherwise have no business doing so, but it's still jarring.  
"Okay then. Well, I should head back to the precinct, it's been a zoo lately," she says a little too quickly. He narrows his eyes at her, watching as she walks away.  
"You're not mad, are you?" She waves his words away.  
"No, of course not, but I'm going to reserve my happiness until we're sure." He just nods, looking back down at the files beneath him.

_________________________________

 

Not a half an hour later, Carmen opens the door for Calhoun, who walks in with all her airs and graces and Chanel perfume, pouring herself a hefty cup of coffee before even looking at him.  
"I'm here, it's my lunch break, make it quick," she says, shaking his hand and smiling. Rita is cutthroat, divisive and decisive, smarter than most people in any room she walks into, and Barba has always had a soft spot for her.

"Everything I'm about to say to you is purely hypothetical, okay?" She smirks at him, and he nods.  
"Okay," he exhales. "Okay. This is all hypothetical–"  
"You said that already counsellor." He lets out a half-laugh.  
"Okay. So if a DA, or, say, an ADA, were in a relationship with a police officer with whom that DA worked very closely on a litany of cases, would those cases be liable for appeal, even if the relationship was nonexistent for the duration of the cases?"  
Rita raises her eyebrow slowly, a smile playing at her lips.  
"Oh, Barba, what have you done?" She says, dragging each successive word out.  
"Hypothetical, Rita," he says through gritted teeth.  
"Mmhmm," she hums, and he hands her a Manila folder.  
"This is what the NDAA has to say about it. The way I read it, it's fine as long as the disclosure happens at the onset of the relationship and that relationship is disclosed in discovery for any trials where the DA uses the police officer in question's testimony. If that police officer is the lead witness, then the DA would recuse his or herself from that case. Other than that… it's fine."  
"Those are a lot of qualifications, a lot of liability…" she peruses the file,"It appears that your reading – while ethically questionable – is correct." He straightens his shoulders, smoothing down his vest, ready for battle.  
"Okay."  
"Can you give me a guarantee that this hypothetical relationship has only recently commenced? That a hypothetical defence attorney won't be forced into making prison visits and reopening old cases?" He puts his hands down onto the desk, leaning forward.  
"I can guarantee you that." She smiles, standing up, folding her coat over her arm and grabbing her coffee cup with her free hand.

"Well, Mr. Barba, give my regards to Sergeant Benson," she says smugly as she turns to leave. 

He closes the door behind her, backing himself up against it and wishing he could become one with it.

_________________________________

 

He gets home later than usual, staring bleakly into his dark, empty apartment. He strips off his outerwear, tosses his briefcase onto the couch, and goes for the phone, dialing Olivia's number instinctively.  
"Benson."  
"Liv, it's me," he says, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can unbutton his vest and shirt.  
"How'd the meeting with Calhoun go?"  
"She agrees with me, if we disclose we're in the clear. It'll be tough, we'll have to be so careful, but we can be above board."  
"Okay." He can hear Noah fussing in the background and Liv saying something to him.  
"What're you thinking?"  
"Oh, nothing, just about the conversation I'm going to have to have at 1PP." He knows he has to consider himself lucky: even if he and the DA are on less than amiable terms, the DA knows good work when he sees it and won't be quick to push him out or hassle him too badly. Olivia, as a woman in the old boy's club, won't have that same luck.  
"I'm sure you'll find some way to win them over, you always do." He shifts the phone away from his shoulder, throwing his shirt and vest into his (embarrassingly large) laundry pile.  
"Are you coming over tonight?" she asks as he kicks off his pants.  
"I really want to say yes, but there's a triple homicide case going to trial tomorrow that I have to prep for. It's going to be a blowout, this guy all but carved his name into the victims, but Minnona Efron's his attorney, so…" he trails off, staring at his bed, considering how comfortable it looks.  
"She's always an event, isn't she?" The line goes silent for a second. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but it's proof perfect at how exhausted they both are. "I should get Noah to bed, so I'll let you go. Try to get some sleep, okay?" He's so tired it sounds like her words are buffering before he hears them.  
"Yeah, yeah, okay, love you," he says, his head and eyelids heavy.  
"What?" she whispers into the receiver.  
"What?" he repeats back, admiring the crisp white lines of his thick comforter, he can almost feel his back relaxing into the mattress.  
"What did you say?" He tries to remember back that far, but his pillow is so alluring he can hardly remember where the phone is.  
"I said: 'yeah, okay, love y– Oh." He realises the gravity of what he's just said to her. "I'm sorry, I'm tired, I shouldn't have–"  
"I love you too, Rafael," she cuts him off. A warmth swells within him, momentarily overshadowing the tiredness. He's quiet for long enough that he starts to notice the lull in their conversation again. For the first time in several months, he panics.  
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" Liv says, her voice unnervingly calm.  
"Yeah, okay, that's good," he can hear her laugh on the other end and cringes: Rafael Barba is not supposed to be tongue-tied. Ever.  
"Good night, Liv," he manages to get out without error.

When she hangs up, he falls dramatically to his bed, feeling exactly like his seventeen year old self: totally enamored and totally losing it.

 

Olivia puts Noah to bed, smiling like an idiot for the duration, even as he throws a minor tantrum. It's good to feel good, she decides. The past couple years since Elliot left, while littered with wonderful things (the now-sleeping child laying just feet from her is at the top of that list), have been altogether too dark.

She deserves this much happiness, she decides as she climbs into bed. It doesn't mean her feelings won't change the first time she sees someone in an unhappier situation than her, but she'll work that through with Dr. Lindstrom.

_________________________________

 

So she discloses the next day during her lunch hour and, par for the course, gets chewed out by Chief Dodds. She tells him exactly what Barba told her about disclosing during discovery, about him recusing himself during cases where she's a lead witness, and that there's no grounds on which past cases can be reopened. It seems to be enough to calm Dodds' nerves a bit, but she knows she's still tightrope walking on a live wire.

Still, it's enough for now.

_________________________________

 

When she gets home, she relieves Lucy and calls Barba. She doesn't remember exactly when this became routine for them, definitely well before they first slept together but recently enough that she still wonders if she's going to be a nuisance to him, even though she knows she won't be.

She invites him over, but only if he promises to bring takeout and a fresh bottle of wine. He's over within the hour, with two shawarmas and a chicken kabob for Noah, a bottle of rosé looking delightfully out of place in the plastic bag.

"I have a charity benefit on Friday night, some women's empowerment thing," he says between bites. She raises an eyebrow at him.  
"Oh, c'mon Liv, you know how it is, they call it women's empowerment but it's really résumé empowerment for annoying politicos." She laughs, shaking her head. He's not wrong.  
"Anyways, since we're above board, it'd be nice to have you as my plus-one."  
"It would be nice to get out of the house for an evening," she says, eyeing Noah as he pushes his chicken around his plate with his fingers.  
"And what better way to do it than by spending it with the scummiest of Manhattan's overlords?"

_________________________________

 

On Friday, she dresses in an understated tea-length black dress with a silver diagonal zip up the thigh and an asymmetric hemline. It's a great look. By chance, she'd bought it on sale at the Lord and Taylor on 5th Avenue several years back, but hadn't had the opportunity to wear it yet. She was lucky to have hair that was low-maintenance enough to hold a curl for a significant period of time or she'd be damned to her usual work hairstyle with the length as short as it is.

Lucy comes at just past six-thirty, cooing over how nice Olivia looks, and Barba's at the door not fifteen minutes later. Olivia fusses over Noah, the feeling of leaving him for a reason other than work still alien to her, but Barba manages to pull her out of the apartment in one piece.

"When do I get to find out how high that zipper goes?" He practically growls in her ear as he helps her pull her coat on. She can feel herself flushing, and it's not because of the warmth of the jacket.

They Uber to the venue (with much eye-rolling from Olivia), some glitzy lofted art gallery in TriBeCa that makes the crowd of people inside it look about twenty years younger than they are. Barba steers her, with his usual hand on the small of her back, to the coat check, then to a waiter holding a tray of champagne, and then to the compulsory Somebodies he's been called upon to schmooze.

She laughs a little too hard the first time he introduces her as "my girlfriend," and they both quickly agree that he'll just introduce her by her name and let his arm wrapped around her waist do the rest of the talking.

She's not quite in over her head yet but decidedly nearing it when she finally spots a face she recognises. He smiles, making his way towards her, raising his glass as he nears.  
"Bayard!" She greets, raising her glass in return.  
"Detective Benson," he says warmly.  
"Actually, it's Sergeant now," she replies wearing her pride in a smile.  
"I can think of few people more deserving," he pauses, taking her in. "So what brings you here tonight? Unless the NYPD has decided to join us in the 21st century?"  
"I'm sure my…" she hesitates,"…date will join us shortly." She nods towards Barba, who looks thoroughly trapped in a conversation with the owner of a tech startup. Ellis raises his eyebrows at her, smirking. "It seems you have a bit of a type, Olivia."  
"One of these days I'll train myself to stop devaluing myself, but until then I'll have to keep dating lawyers." He laughs.

They slip into comfortable conversation, the most authentic she's had all night. She's reminded, briefly, of how nice it is to talk to people not completely enveloped in her dark world, but who still understand what she's talking about. When Barba finally frees himself, he makes a beeline for Olivia, dodging as many attempts to pull him into conversations as he can.

"Bayard, this is Rafael Barba, he's an ADA here in Manhattan. Rafael, this is Bayard Ellis, a damn good defence attorney." Barba smiles at Ellis, one of those crinkly-eye smiles that fills Olivia with joy.  
"We've met before, I believe," Barba says, and when he catches the look of panic on Olivia's face, he quickly adds: "Not in court. I don't think we have any grudge matches to settle?" He quirks his eyebrow at Ellis, as though asking for confirmation. Ellis laughs, "No, Mr. Barba, I don't believe we do."

They aren't allowed very much time to speak before Olivia's phone rings, cutting her off mid-sentence. She smiles apologetically, pulling her phone out of her clutch and turning away from the two men to answer her phone.  
"Benson."  
"Hey Sarg, it's Carisi. We just caught a case, vic's already made her statement and, uh, Chief Dodds is in the precinct. I think you may wanna be here for this."  
"Dodds is there? Dammit. Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can." She hangs up, pushing her phone into her bag and turning back to the conversation. Barba gives her a questioning look and she begins to make her apologies to Ellis, excusing them both.

"What's up?" Barba asks her as she practically drags him to coatcheck.  
"That was Carisi, they've got a victim and Chief Dodds there, so I've gotta go in."  
"So why do you need me?"  
"If Dodds is there it means it's something heavy and, way more importantly, I don't know how to use Uber."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm starting to convince myself into the idea of writing a brief canon divergence to do an episode-style case I've been thinking up and to include some Barson character development in it. What do you guys think?


	4. the truth is she doesn't need me to protect her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case is caught.

 

They arrive at the station twenty minutes later, Barba following at Olivia's heels as they enter the squad room. 

"Sergeant, Counsellor, sorry to ruin your date," Fin says slowly, looking suspisciously between the two of them. Olivia shoots him a deadly look, as if to say _Not another word_ and turns to look at Carisi. She hasn’t yet told her squad about her relationship with Barba, and she seriously isn’t in the mood to deal with it tonight. If she’s lucky, Carisi will just take Fin’s comment as teasing and won’t give it any real thought. She prays she’s lucky. 

"Where's Dodds?" 

"In your office."

"Good. He'll be okay in there for a few minutes. Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?" 

"So the vic–" he nods towards the interview room–"is found huddled in an alleyway by the Chelsea piers, tells the beat cops who found her that she's been raped by two men. It becomes our case when she tells 'em she Periscoped it all and who her two assailants are."

"Periscoped it?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's this app where you can broadcast things live, usually used for street fights or rap battles or college sports or bored rich people at Benihana–"

"Okay, Carisi. Thank you. That still doesn't explain why Dodds is here." Carisi looks nervously at Fin, who shrugs. 

"The two men she accused are kinda high profile." 

"Dodds came in because her _rapists_ are high profile?!" She rolls her eyes and then sighs, looking towards the door of her office and resigning herself to her fate. 

 

"Chief Dodds, always good to see you," Olivia says as she closes her office door behind her, heading to her desk. 

"You look nice, Sergeant, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" She smiles at him, flipping open the Manila folder on her desk that she assumes is the victim's statement. 

"Never, sir." He laughs, understanding full well the facetious nature of her comment. "So what can I help you with?" she asks when he doesn't say anything. 

"Your alleged victim in there–" he tilts his head towards the interview room where Rollins is sitting with a young blonde woman –"has just accused the sons of Zachariah Simpson and Antonio Trujillo of rape." Zachariah Simpson is a name she's heard before, he's a former Olympic runner, the 200m maybe?

"Antonio Trujillo?" 

"He owns that trendy news channel, ATV. Look, Sergeant, I'm not here to impede your investigation or tell you to do anything, but I am here to remind you to do your due diligence. These are the children of some extremely influential men, and 1PP does not need the headache of a high profile false allegation. And neither, I believe, do you." He says, looking out the window at Barba speaking to Fin, Carisi, and Amaro. She acknowledges his thinly-veiled threat, thanks him for taking time out of his weekend to come speak with her, and ushers him out. 

 

"The marching orders are 'tread carefully,'" she says to Amaro, Fin, Carisi, and by extension, Barba. "I'm going to go in with Rollins, can you two get me everything you can on–" she looks down at the file in her hands–"Jacob Simpson and Valentín Trujillo? And Nick can you starting vetting the vic? I don’t want any surprises."

 

 

 

_________________________________

 

 

“Kirsten, this is Sergeant Olivia Benson,” Rollins says, setting her hand gently down on the vic’s.

“Hi Kirsten, I'm Olivia. We're all going to do our best to help you, but I'm going to need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened." 

 

Kirsten proceeds to retell the details of her assault, tearfully at times, her face held in frozen agony at others. It's a scene Olivia's scene far too many times, and she recognises Kirsten as being more than credible. 

"And this on your cheek, they did that to you?" She ghosts her fingertips along a gash on her left cheek.

"No, no, that's from a few nights ago, but the stitches got ripped out during..."

"A few nights ago? What happened then?" 

"I can show you." She pulls out her phone, tapping it several times before handing it to Olivia. 

 

A Facebook post sits on the screen, a selfie of Kirsten in a hospital bed, her neck in a brace and her face bloodied. The caption reads: "when a bitch comes at you with a broken bottle, duck." 

 

There are two knocks on the window behind her, and Olivia looks up at Kirsten. “I’ll be right back, okay?" Kirsten nods. Olivia stands up from the table, rapping her knuckles against the wood contemplatively. She leaves the interview room, shutting the door behind her. 

 

"What's up?" She asks Barba, who has, per his habit, already pulled his suit jacket off, rolled his sleeves up and loosened his tie. She blinks hard, trying to undistract herself.

"Did she just show you her Facebook?" Olivia turns to look at Kirsten and Rollins through the window, sighs, and looks back to Barba. 

"Yeah, why?"

"This is all going to get thrown against her. From the comments on the post it sounds like she got caught flirting with some woman's SO, she catches them, and smashes her with a broken bottle. We've got a triple threat: a pattern of drunkeness, disorderly conduct, and, crucially for us, flirtatiousness."

"You've got to be kidding me, Barba."

"I'm not. These guys she's accusing? They've got serious money, and they'll get serious attorneys the second you arrest them." She stares at him, feeling the slight tinge of disgust she's used to feeling whenever he gets into Lawyer Mode. 

"Okay, so Carisi said she Periscoped it," he says the word with the discomfort he's reserves for modern technology that he doesn't understand, "Let's get the footage, see what it shows." 

 

Olivia puts her hands up, realising that things will only get sloppier if they keep going tonight. 

"Let's not. If Dodds wants us to tread lightly, we'll go slow with this. We've got our statement from Kirsten, we'll send her home for the night – we'll all go home, and we'll pick this up on Monday. That sound good?" She can see the moment Barba flickers over from professional to personal, and he nods. 

 

She goes back to the interview room, sends Kirsten and Rollins home before going to the squad room and doing the same for Fin and Carisi. She returns to her office to collect Barba and her coat. 

_________________________________

 

"So much for a good first date," he says when they get outside, linking his fingers with hers. She laughs, equal parts shocked and amused that it really is only their first true date.

"You sure you wanna come home with me? There's a good chance Noah'll be cranky if he wakes up." 

"Wouldn't trade it for anything, Liv,” he says, pulling her gently in the direction of the subway station. 

_________________________________

 

 

There's a certain charm to waking up in the morning with her face pressed to the inside of Barba's bicep. She's even more charmed, however, with Noah for having slept through the entire night. The other shoe's going to drop eventually she figures, but she’ll celebrate the small wins now. She pulls herself off a still-sleeping Barba, placing a kiss on his bare chest for good measure. 

 

When she's found somewhat tolerable clothes to pull on, she pads into the kitchen, flicking on the coffee pot. She leans against the counter, looking out the small window. They've got a pretty good thing going, she's lucky they've fallen into each other at a time in their lives where they're both mature enough to compartmentalise the two sectors of their relationship. She had doubted their ability to handle it, and that moment of weakness last night in her office when she'd seen him in his routine state of workplace undress had almost convinced her that their personal and professional lives would be mutually exclusive, but when he hadn't backed down on nit-picking the more unsavoury parts of Kirsten's story she knew they would be fine. 

 

She hears Noah fussing in his bedroom, and her heart lifts. "Good morning little man!" she coos as she lifts him out of his crib, kissing his forehead. She gently bounces him, toying with his hand and tickling his pudgy tummy, revelling in the delighted noises he makes. 

 

A floorboard creaks behind her, and she turns to find the source of the noise. Barba stands before her, clad only in his undershirt and boxer briefs, his hair messily spiked out in a thousand and one directions. If it were anyone else, she would've laughed, but she just smiles a warm smile at him, thankful he's there. "Morning," she says, tapping Noah's hand with her finger to make him wave. "Say morning, Noah." Noah babbles something that isn't even remotely close to the word, but she still beams at him. "There's coffee in the pot," she says over Noah’s head.

"Thanks," Barba hums, smiling sleepily at Noah. 

 

They spend a lazy Saturday together, cycling through a seemingly never ending stream of Disney movies on Netflix and playing blocks to keep Noah happy, venturing out into the cold October air only long enough to find food, or, more accurately, only long enough for Noah to decide he's had enough and start sobbing. 

 

At night, once they're certain Noah's asleep, Olivia grabs Barba by the wrist, pulling him into her bedroom. She shuts the door, turning on the baby monitor, just as she had their first night together. They stand at the side of her bed, and he kisses her gently. She pulls him down to sit, intertwining her fingers with his. She pushes him back onto the bed, raising their linked hands above his head and straddling his waist with her thighs. 

 

With her free hand, she drags his shirt up his abdomen, laughing as she learns it's a lot harder to get off with one hand than she'd expected. He laughs too, before recapturing her lips with his. When she finally manages to get his shirt up, she detangles their fingers, temporarily saddened by the loss of the warmth of his hand against hers. He sits up, and she crosses her legs behind his back, placing her newly-freed hand on his chest, lightly dragging her nails through his chest hair. 

 

He wraps his arms around her, pulling him further up his lap, kissing the juncture of his collarbone and neck. She breathes heavily, feeling the heat rise between them as she anchors her hand in his hair. He kisses across the hollow of her neck, and she lets her head fall backwards, savouring the sensation, a low moan slipping from between her lips.  When he starts tugging at the hem of her shirt, the baby monitor crackles to life, Noah's wailing cutting through the atmosphere of the room. 

 

Olivia laughs, leaning her forehead against Barba's, her breath coming up short. "How's that for a mood killer?" she whispers, stealing a quick kiss before lifting herself off him. "I'll be right back, she says over her shoulder.

 

She is not right back: it takes at least a half an hour to soothe Noah and fifteen minutes on top of that to get him back to sleep. When she finally gets back to Barba, she finds him sitting up in bed, intently reading something on his phone.

"I'm so sorry about that," Olivia pleads, leaning against the threshold. 

"What? Don't apologise to me, Liv," he says, looking up from his phone, his brow furrowed. 

"Okay, I'm so–" she cuts herself off, realising what she's about to do. He just nods his head, silently saying  _come join me_ , and she does, crawling onto the bed and leaning against his shoulder, her eyelids heavy. 

 

"I guess it's only fair that you know what you're signing yourself up for," she says against the warm skin of his shoulder.

"You don't need to worry about me," he says, plugging his phone in and setting it down on the bedside table. 

"I'm going to," she replies sleepily. 

"I know, but I need you to know you don't have to," he says, flicking off the light and pulling the comforter up and over her exposed shoulders. She's asleep before she can even argue back. 

_________________________________

 

After having a quick breakfast with her and Noah, Barba heads back to his apartment to get some chores down and prep for the upcoming week. She knows they both probably need their space, but that doesn't stop her from sighing wistfully as she watches her front door close behind him. 

_________________________________

 

On Monday morning, she gets to the precinct a half an hour earlier than she usually does, determined to not let this case get out of her grasp. She reviews Kirsten’s statement, checking for holes and gaps, reads what Carisi and Fin managed to pull up on her attackers, on who their fathers are, what assets they have. 

 

When Carisi gets in, the first one of her squad there that morning, she shoots off a text to Barba, asking him to come by the precinct when he can so they can review the Periscope footage. She pours herself another cup of coffee, watching people fill into the squad room for the day. She breathes out slowly. She doesn’t want to let this case become a train wreck, they all need the morale boost after Evie Barnes, and her and Barba need to save face, especially considering their recently disclosed predicament. 

 

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she pulls it out to check it. Barba will be over at nine, he has a quick run in arraignment beforehand. She sets Carisi on checking for security cameras in the vicinity of the attack, then holes herself up in her office to get a start of the infinite  stream of paperwork on her desk. 

 

_________________________________

 

“Hey, Rollins,” Carisi stage whispers across the aisle between their two desks.

“Yes?” Rollins responds, not quite caffeinated enough to be cheerful yet.

“You notice anything weird between Barba and the Sarg lately?"

“Weird? What d’you mean?” He swivels in his seat to face her, like he always does when he’s trying to brainstorm something.

“Well last night they both came in together, dressed to the nines, and Fin makes this crack about interrupting their date, she gives him this look like she’s going to string him up by his balls."

“So? They were probably at some PR thing together, after a hit like we took last case it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, but you don’t think…?"

“No, they wouldn’t do anything stupid like that.” Fin sits down opposite her, opening his laptop.

“Hey, Fin, settle this for us – you think there’s anything up between Barba and Liv?”

“Because of last night?"

“Yeah, you don’t think that was weird?” 

“Nah, nah, Liv wouldn’t do that.” 

“Thank you!” Amanda says, raising her hand in mock victory. Carisi, clearly not satisfied, turns to Amaro, who has just entered the squad room looking a little windswept.

“Amaro, you think there’s anything going on between Liv and Barba?” He asks, and Rollins shushes him, trying to not have the entire precinct whispering about Olivia. He laughs, clearly not expecting the question.

“What do you mean? Like are they together?"

“Yeah, yeah, exactly like that.”

“I dunno, guess they could be, wouldn’t surprise me."

“Really?” Fin asks, almost incredulously. Amaro shrugs.

“Yeah, they’ve been going at it basically since day one, I wouldn’t be surprised if it boiled over.” 

 

As the words leave his lips, Barba strides into the squad room, holding two cups of coffee and a pastry bag. He goes straight into Olivia’s office, and through the window they all see him hand her the coffee and pastry bag and kiss her cheek. 

“I’ll be damned,” Fin says, whistling long and low. 

 

Rollins is the first to turn away. “That doesn’t mean anything!” She says defensively. 

“Oh, come on, ‘Manda,” Amaro laughs, crossing his arms.

“So it’s incriminating, but it’s inconclusive. Just, just don’t say anything until we’re sure, we don’t want to make this weird."

“Yeah, like _that_  wasn’t weird,” Carisi says, turning back to his laptop. Rollins rolls her eyes. 

  

_________________________________

 

“Not at work!” Olivia hisses, pushing Barba away, her smile betraying her. 

“Couldn’t resist,” he says smugly, stepping back all the same. “So this video, have you seen it yet?” 

“No, not yet, been catching up on paperwork. You know, they never told me how much writing I’d have to do?” He laughs. 

“Preaching to the choir.” She heads into the squad room, tilting her head to indicate he should follow her.

 

“Carisi, you got that video?” She asks.

“Yeah, should be ready to go."

“Okay, let’s do this.” She turns on the TV, watching the footage appear on screen. Carisi plays it from his laptop, and Liv sits in the chair at the head of the table. The rest of the squad sits in the chairs surrounding the table, while Barba opts to lean against the half wall behind her. Amaro looks to Barba then at Rollins and smirks. Olivia decides she really doesn’t want to know what that was about. 

 

The video starts, and it begins to tell the exact story Kirsten told them: she’s walking down a street, the camera angled so that it only shows her feet pattering against the pavement. There are men’s voices calling her – by name – coming closer and closer to the camera. Then, a second pair of feet appear in the frame, and then a third. Her feet are lifted off the ground, and she’s pulled sideways. 

“How is she holding her phone?” Amaro asks. 

“She said it was in the front pocket of the flannel she was wearing. It’s going to fall out at some point.” Rollins replies, double-checking her notes. 

 

In the video, Kirsten is slammed against a wall, her heels bouncing off of it. The force of her body hitting the wall drives the phone out of her pocket, and it lands on its side on the floor, the camera facing out against the opposite side of the street. A lucky break if Olivia’s ever seen one.

 

“Hey, hold up, can you pause that?” Fin says, standing up. Carisi does, and Fin moves to the TV. “You see that? That looks like a reflection in the glass. Can you zoom in on that?"

“No can do, these videos are super low quality. I can up the contrast and brightness on the screen, though, see if maybe that’ll help?” He does, and while the video stays just as grainy as before, it does help bring out some more detail. It’s fuzzy, definitely not enough to use facial recognition tech on it, but it obviously shows three people, one woman significantly smaller than the two men.

“Okay, keep playing Carisi.” Olivia says.

 

The footage continues to roll, and one of the men pulls out what can only be handcuffs. “Those aren’t the fun kind,” Fin says gloomily. The figure puts the handcuffs on Kirsten, who struggles lamely, giving up once her first wrist is captured. But the man doesn’t hook her second wrist in, instead hooking the second cuff around something outside the field of vision in the reflection.

 

Olivia gasps involuntarily, her heart starting to race. The second man hits the girl, and before Olivia can watch his hand make contact with her face, she’s thrown into a painful flashback. _William Lewis is towering over her, his breath hot and his eyes cold. He handcuffs her around the wrought iron bed frame, forcing his gun into her face to keep her from moving. Her arms ache so much they’re almost numb, the thin metal of the handcuffs is boring into the skin of her wrists like the fresh pain of a paper cut that just won’t go away. She’s overcome by the fear that she’s going to die here, by the fear that death will be the kindest thing to happen to her in the coming hours. It’s truly an overwhelming feeling, in the purest definition of that word. Every fibre of her being thrums with unadulterated horror, with the insidious knowledge that she will never be the same again and there’s nothing she can do about it. She wants to scream but there’s no air in her lungs, and Lewis is surrounding her. It’s three-hundred and sixty degree of sheer terror._

“Liv? Liv!” She’s torn back to reality as quickly as she’s torn from it, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“Liv, are you okay?” Amaro is kneeling down in front of her, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” she tries hard to regain her composure. “Hey, you guys keep watching and I’m going to go get some water, okay?"

“Liv, are you sure?” Fin asks, hedging. 

“I’m sure, I need some water and I’ll be fine. You guys keep going.” She stands up, her knees wobbly, pushing herself upwards with her hands on the arms of the chair. 

 

When she gets into her office, she hears Barba behind her, quietly asking the squad to give them a few minutes. He enters her office after her, closing to the door. 

“Flashback?” he asks, his voice low.

“Mhm,” she hums, her lips pressed tightly together as she pulls a bottle of water from her desk drawer. 

“Do you need to sit this one out?”

“No, no. I’m fine, it was just unexpected."

“Has it been a while since you’ve had one?” 

“A few months, I thought I was through with them,” she sees him grimace.

“When are you seeing your shrink again?” He doesn’t tiptoe over the words, doesn’t treat her like a porcelain doll, like something fragile, he just talks to her.

“I’m going tonight."

“Do you need anything right now?” She smiles at him, though even she knows it’s a half-assed attempt.

“Nope. I just need to get back out there, keeping moving.” He eyes her skeptically, but when he ascertains that she’s not going to lapse again, he nods. 

“Okay.” A beat. “Liv are you su–"

“Don’t second guess me."

“Okay."

 

She manages to make it through the remainder of the workday without any more incidents, and she’s grateful that no one badgers her about her flashback. They make good headway on the case, there’re a lot of angles for them to search down, and a lot of ways to lock it down. She wants to haul the attackers in as soon as possible, but Barba is adamant they wait until they have an airtight case, he wants them to walk into the interrogation room and realize they’re not leaving as free men.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_________________________________

 

 

She goes to Dr. Lindstrom after work, and starts off their session by telling him about her flashback, and ends it by musing about whether she’s made a grave mistake by starting a relationship with Barba, whether she’s going to end both of their careers. By the time she’s done talking, she’s convinced herself that she’s actually made the right decision, and Lindstrom smiles warmly at her, a sign of implied approval. 

 

 

 

 

 

_________________________________

 

 

Her phone rings minutes after she gets Noah down for the night. 

“Benson."

“You’ll never guess who the house lawyer is for Valentín Trujillo’s father.” It’s wildly inappropriate, but the way Barba seamlessly turns on his Spanish accent turns her on.

“Who?"

“Rita Calhoun, JD."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea where I'm even going with these chapter titles anymore. I'm picking lyrics from Vampire Weekend songs I like and they have pretty much no relevance to the chapter. Just pretend I'm a lot smarter than I am and they actually have some deeper meaning to them. 
> 
> That said, I've been pumping these chapters out pretty quickly, and while I'd love to continue at this same pace I don't know how realistic that is. I'll try my best, but if I slow up I'm so sorry! Life is funny about this sorta stuff.


	5. the Holy Roman Empire roots for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Case closed

She groans, dropping her head in defeat.  
“You’re kidding."  
“I wish I were.”   
“So what does that mean?"  
“It means you get to have absolutely minimal contact with this case. Reduce your fingerprints on the paper trail or do whatever it is you cops do to pass the buck."  
“Don’t sound so happy about this, Barba.”   
“Oh, I’m not happy about this, I’m really not, but we need this win as clear and unadulterated as possible."  
“I’m not going to do this every time Calhoun takes a case, I’m not sacrificing my job like that."  
“I know, and I’m only asking you to do it this once. If we get this win, the DA will take my head off the chopping block and I’m sure 1PP will back off of you. I know, I know you hate politics, but play the game this once.” She sighs. He’s right, but she absolutely despises that she’s the only one that’s going to have to make any sacrifices here.  
“And, before you think I’m going off scot-free,” he continues, as though he’s been reading her mind,”I’m going to have one of the junior ADAs work this case with me for accountability.”   
“We’re going to have a lot of fun with this, aren’t we?” She says sarcastically.  
“So much.” 

They talk for the next hour, until Liv finds herself floating in and out of consciousness, already halfway horizontal in her bed.  
“You should sleep,” he says after her third time mumbling through the same response to him.  
“Yeah."  
“Are you going to hang up or am I?” He asks, sounding vaguely amused by her disoriented state.   
“Yeah.” He laughs at her. “Okay, love you,” she murmurs.   
“Love you too, Liv.” He hangs up, and she lets the phone fall from between her cheek and shoulder, asleep before she even hits the pillow.

_________________________________

  
The following day, after a second round of vetting Kirsten, the return of the results of her rape kit, the consolidation of CCTV footage confirming both the attackers and the victim were in the vicinity of the attack in line with the timeline Kirsten had given them, they arrest Jacob Simpson and Valentín Trujillo. 

Counter to the usual MO, both Olivia and Barba veto giving them a well-attended perp walk, both hoping that the powers that be won’t swoop in too quickly. Before they’re even in holding, both Simpson and Trujillo invoke, and Rita Calhoun is at the precinct a half an hour later. 

“Sergeant Benson, you’re all done here,” she says as she comes into the interrogation room.  
“Rita, a pleasure as always,” Olivia says bitterly, making her way from the room.  
“Yes, I’m sure it is,” she says, smirking.

“Do you understand now why I hate that you went to Rita?” she whispers angrily to Barba as they walk away from the window.  
“Yes, but–"  
“No. No buts. This sucks.”   
“It sucks now, but in the long term it takes the suck away, c’mon, you know I’m right."  
“No, I do not know that you’re right, all I know is that she sucks.” He looks like he’s about to laugh at her.  
“What? Lover’s quarrel?” Carisi cracks, stepping in front of them. Both of them give him a deathly stare. “Alright, sorry! I just wanted to let you know that Hank Abraham is in your office.” Olivia looks at Barba, her mouth open slightly in shock.  
“I should head back, start working on those warrants,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  
“No way. You’re suffering through this with me."

“Deputy Commissioner Abraham, good morning,” Olivia says in her politest voice.  
“Sergeant, Counsellor.” Abraham says, nodding his acknowledgement.  
“So, what can I do for you?” Olivia asks, not yet standing behind her desk, trying to keep it casual.  
“Despite what you might be ready for, I’m not here to give you hell. Not only,” he says. Olivia forces a smile. “1PP is impressed by how quietly you handled the arrest, but it’s probably best that you know that Antonio Trujillo has always given us very favorable coverage"  
“You’re coming to us because the father of a criminal is nice to you?” Barba says in his cut-through-the-bullshit voice.  
“I’m coming to you because it would be best for everyone if you made sure this case is bulletproof. We’re concerned about the… effect another big loss will have on the NYPD, and more specifically SVU."  
“Message received loud and clear, Deputy Commissioner, loud and clear,” Olivia says, opening her office door. 

When he leaves, Olivia starts to close the door,, but not before Barba's new co-prosecutor, Reynolds, interrupts. 

He's a good looking young kid, and she says kid because she swears he has to be. Barba told her he was in his mid-thirties but she's having none of it, he doesn't look a day over thirty. He's not as well dressed as Barba, but he's definitely on the better end of the spectrum. Of course, she figures, with his light blond hair and baby blue eyes he could come dressed in a burlap sack and she'd still think he was an absolute doll. 

"Seargant Benson? I've got those search warrants you wanted." He hands her two folded slips of paper and she smiles at him in thanks. He ducks back out of the room and she finishes closing the door.   
"He really is a cute kid," she says, sitting behind her desk.   
"I know. You've told me. Like a hundred times."  
"Aw, is that a touch of jealous I'm detecting?" She teases. He rolls his eyes at her but drops into the chair in front of her desk, whipping out his phone.   
"I'm probably going to call you as a witness, but I think I'll call Rollins before you, really keep Rita from pulling any punches. Hey, you wanna try ordering in from that new Thai place? I could use something spicy right now."   
"Fine by me, I'll have whatever you're having," she says, focusing more on the files up on her laptop screen.  
"Anyways," he continues, still on his phone, "I'm only going to call you to testify to your experience with crimes where a victim has had a previous sexual relationship with the rapist–"  
"So most of them?"  
"Sure. I'm probably not going to call you and Rollins right away, so I'll try and play the Periscope during the days you're not in the courtroom. I can't guarantee you the defence won't bring it up, but I'll do my best."  
"You don't need to worry about me, I can handle myself."  
"I know you can."  
"Okay."  
"Okay." There's a beat of silence between them. "You want spring rolls?"  
"Sure." Another beat. "You're going to need to stop worrying about me, Rafael, your forehead will freeze in that position if you don't." He waves her away dramatically.  
"I'm not worrying about you!" He says defensively. 

_________________________________

Carisi watches as Barba brings a bag of delivery food into Olivia's office, and he turns to Rollins.   
"C'mon!"   
"Carisi. They eat together all the time, this means nothing."   
"That doesn't look like nothing to me!"  
"Okay, fine, you know what, I'll look up Liv's file in the database, if they're doing anything I'll bet they'll have disclosed. They're both so by the book I can't see them not doing it." She pulls up the NYPD personnel database, quickly looking Liv up, trying to draw as little attention to her as possible. 

And there, right in Liv's file, not even remotely hidden, is the confirmation that Carisi isn't crazy. 

"I knew I was right!" Carisi says proudly. "I've always had a good eye for this kinda stuff, I used to catch my sisters out all the time as kids."   
"Wow," Rollins says, looking back at Liv's office, momentarily stunned. "Look, if Liv didn't tell us there's probably a reason why, let's not make this a big deal, just carry on like before."  
"You know, I bet that's why he's not calling her to the stand first, if they've disclosed they're probably being scrutinised like crazy, he can't have it looking like there's any preferential treatment or the defence could bring it up and destroy the case." Carisi carries on hypothesising and Rollins returns to her work, still floored. 

_________________________________

  
"So they're spending the night here?" Reynolds asks, standing in Olivia's office a half an hour later.  
"Yeah. Usually we reserve that only for people we're trying to get to confess, but to attract as little attention as possible we needed to bring them in early."   
"It's strange having this much downtime, over in Vice it's basically bust, arrest, arraign in the span of two hours."  
"The joys of Vice," she says, checking her phone for confirmation the searches of the perp's cars were complete.  
"What are you looking for in their cars?"  
"She said they threw her in a car when they were done with her and dumped her in a different alleyway a few blocks down. The video cuts out before then, so we're not sure whose car it was that they put her in, but if we can find her DNA in one of their cars we can tie up her timeline."  
"Maybe." Barba cuts in. Olivia gives him a confused look.  
"Trujillo is her ex, if they find her DNA in his car it can just as easily be argued away that it's there from when they were together as anything else." Her phone buzzes, a text from Rollins.  
"Well, that won't be a problem: they've got blood on the carpet in the back seat of Jacob Simpson's car, they're sending it off for confirmation now."  
"Good. We're going to head back to the office before the prelim, see if Calhoun's ready to deal yet." Barba says.

_________________________________

  
She meets Barba for a quick dinner on her way out that night. He's spinning his wheels because Calhoun refused to come to the table and wouldn't say why. She tries to cool his nerves, but he's convinced something's coming down the pike that they're not prepared for. 

Today was his first preliminary hearing for a case they'd worked on together after disclosing, and he considered himself lucky that he'd gone to Rita first. She was eminently reasonable, not even bothering to bring it up at the motions hearing, but that had been what started to set him on edge in the first place. After arraignment tomorrow they'll open the channels for exchanging their evidence, and he's certain he's going to find something in there he won't like. 

Still, Olivia convinces him to talk about anything but the case at dinner, and his mind starts to settle. What's done is done, and they've got a very strong case, what happens now is mostly out of his hands, at least until they get to court. 

She asks him to come spend the night at her place, and while he wants to, he can't convince himself the risk of running late tomorrow morning outweighs the benefits of going to her's – serious though those benefits may be. 

When they're through with dinner and pulling on their coats and gloves outside the restaurant, he takes a risk he wouldn't otherwise so close to their offices: he kisses her long and hard. The heat of their lips against one another's is a wonderful contrast to the chilly night air. When they pull apart, she stares at him, dazed.  
"What was that for?" Olivia asks, smiling. 

He shrugs. 

_________________________________

The arraignment hearing is a little too normal, both men, dressed to look like choir boys instead of the hedonistic clowns their Instagram profiles reveal them to be, plead not guilty. On the way out of the courtroom, Rita hands him a thumb drive, what he assumes is the evidence she’s collated. 

After an hour of sorting through the files on the thumb drive, the other shoe drops. It looks like an innocuous video file at first (though, really, nothing's innocuous in cases like these), but when Barba watches it, he quickly realises he's watching a video of Kirsten sitting in the back of a car, repeatedly telling whomever is filming the video how much she loves them. Her cheek is bleeding, and the injuries on her face are consistent with what the hospital reported following her rape. But she keeps confessing her love for the cameraman and then, in the last seconds of the clip, says, "I'd let you do anything to me." 

Barba calls Rita the second it's over.   
"Rita Calhoun."  
"Rita. You've got to be kidding me with this video." He can hear her sigh on the other end.   
"It pretty clearly shows your victim, after the alleged attack, proclaiming her love for my client. I'd say that casts the case in a drastically different light than how you're presenting it."  
"She's just been knocked silly, she's inebriated!"   
"You're right, she is inebriated, and as the tox screen you provided us shows she was undeniably drunk."  
"And? We've got video of your clients handcuffing her to a wall."   
"And it was a perfectly consensual interaction." He lets out a frustrated groan.   
"You are a terror."  
"I'll see you in court, counsellor." 

He calls Olivia, tells her to bring Kirsten in so they can review the video. It's not pretty when they do, once Kirsten's done sobbing she swears up and down that she has no memory of it, has no idea why she'd say it. 

"So what do we do?" Olivia says, closing the door after sending Kirsten home with Rollins to escort.   
"We'll have to have the ME confirm that she could've been knocked around enough to disorient her, but it's not a good look. It's going to be hard enough to convince the jury that her and Trujillo's previous relationship has no mitigating impact on the crime, but with Calhoun using this video to claim it was consensual? I dunno."   
"You'll do it, I have faith in you," she says.   
"I hope you're right."  
"Usually am." She smiles. 

_________________________________

As a witness, Olivia’s not allowed to view the first two days of the trial before her testimony, but judging by what Barba tells her at night when they talk before bed it’s not going too terribly. He’s stressed, more so than usual, but she realizes it’s less from the pressure of the case than him wanting a win to salvage himself in the eyes of the DA. He’s never been as political or as professionally cutthroat as the other people in his office, but he’s not fully suicidal yet, he still has aspirations within the system. 

They prep late at night before her court testimony, boxes of Chinese takeout abandoned on the prosecutor’s desk. It’s their first time prepping since getting together, and just as she had felt the night they had caught the case, she’s bogged down by the fear that they won’t be able to handle this professionally – or, at least, that she won’t. 

“No, Liv, too much, we don’t want to open any more doors than we have to,” he says, a little too harshly. She’s about to snap back at him, as she usually does whenever he gets cranky with her, but she stops herself, smiling instead.  
“What?” he asks, stopping midway through his pacing cycle.   
“Nothing. Keep going.”  
   
But it’s not nothing: every step of the way the way through this she’s allowed herself to be overcome with worry, to constantly second guess her emotions and her wants, to not give herself the break she knows she deserves. And every step of the way through this, when those worries rear their ugly head, they are beat down by the reality that this, whatever it is that she and Barba have going between them is, is working. It’s not dragging either of their careers down into career hell, it’s not preventing them from behaving just as professionally as they always have, it’s not causing the earth to stop spinning on its axis. Instead, it’s like fitting the final piece in a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. It’s so natural, so effortless that if she hadn’t been privy to it she doubt she would’ve even noticed it.

_________________________________

She testifies the next day, and while cross-examinations are never fun, she’s set on edge by the knowledge that Rita has delved further into her personal life than she would ever dream of. Rita is ethical though, a good lawyer who can make her case without the underhanded dealings and courtroom theatrics of someone like Buchanan. Her ability to comport herself in the courtroom in the least-slimy way possible (or, as unslimy as a lawyer can ever be) reaffirms the respect Olivia has for her, even in the face of her odious clients. 

When court recesses for the day, the squad and Barba go out for dinner, to a dive-y new gastropub by the courthouse that has already been mostly claimed as a police bar. It’s not until after they’ve all settled in to a table and she’s spent several minutes practically whispering into Barba’s ear that she remembers that they were at least attempting to maintain separation between their professional and personal lives, even around the squad. 

Amaro clears his throat, and Olivia quickly removes her hand from Barba’s thigh – she hadn’t even realized she’d put it there to begin with.  
“Uh, I know it’s none of our business, but is there — is there something going on between you two?” Amaro asks, looking suitably uncomfortable. Olivia looks at Barba, biting her lip. She can feel the eyes of the squad on them. He shrugs, reaching for his glass of scotch, clearly trying to recuse himself from announcement duties. “Okay, thanks,” she says sarcastically, patting his leg. She looks back to everyone at the table, and clears her throat. “Uh, yes. Yes,” she says more resolutely. “We are in a, uh, relationship, and we disclosed last week. It’s not a big thing, we’ve got ground rules worked out with 1PP and the DA, so this really changes nothing,” she dives for her wine glass as soon as she’s done talking. 

“That’s great, Sarg, it really is,” says Carisi after the table is plunged into a moment of heinously awkward silence. As he speaks, the rest of the table seems to lighten up, and even Fin looks happy for them. Once the obligatory congratulations are through, they all slip back into their respective conversations, as though nothing at all has happened. Olivia sighs, clutching her glass of red and relaxing back into her seat. Barba stretches his arm over the back of her chair, and for a moment they sit in silence, watching the interactions unfolding in front of them.  
   
“Are you going to relax now?” He asks, swirling his glass.   
“What do you mean?”   
“Don’t play coy, you’ve been stressed all week. And don’t tell me it’s because of the case,” he says, cutting of her argument before she even gets the chance to make it. She exhales, resigning herself to honesty.  
“Yeah. I think so.” She shifts so she can angle herself towards him, making their conversation a little more private. “I’m still working through some stuff. It’s hard not to second guess myself on anything emotional, I’m not quite ready to fully trust myself again.”   
“Don’t let me pressure you,” he says, devastatingly casually. He’s been so good to her through this, since well before this. “We do this on your timeline, all I care about is that we do it at all.” She smiles, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek, a chaste enough gesture that she’s not uncomfortable doing it in public. 

_________________________________

The next couple days of trial are hard. Kirsten takes the stand and is smacked a thousand different ways during cross, breaking down as she tearfully admits to having no memory of being filmed in the car, conceding that it could mean her memory about her attack is diluted. Olivia rolls her eyes a not insignificant number of times in the gallery. 

Rita, predictably, tears her apart, matched in dexterity only by Barba strategically raising objections to protect Kirsten and the case. It doesn't seem to do much good, however, Olivia swears she can see members of the jury blaming Kirsten with their wary glances away from her as she speaks. 

On the sixth day of the trial, Olivia has to push her way through a paparazzi scrum as Simpson's father enters the courtroom to support his son. She admits to Amaro that she finds herself surprised, she had expected Trujillo's father to find some way to put a media embargo on the trial. She considers that maybe he's not as powerful as 1PP would have her believe. 

Barba once told her that trials always look miserable until all the pieces come together, and she can only pray that platitude holds true for this one. It seems like Calhoun has adeptly painted Kirsten as a wily slut desperate to please her ex-boyfriend, even if that meant degrading herself violently and publicly. It makes her insides turn to think how easily people could be convinced that a victim was a perpetrator. 

He comes home with her the night before what they assume will be the last day of the trial. They don’t talk the whole subway ride back, but they manage to get seats and she dozes off, her head on his shoulder. When they get home, she feeds Noah what can only be described as a lame dinner. Before becoming a mother, she hadn’t really considered just how much effort it takes to put together a meal not worthy of shame. Now that she is a mother, she’s hyperaware of what she feeds Noah, but that doesn’t preclude her from sometimes being lazy. She is only human, after all. 

They sit on the couch, turning the news on, trying not to talk about the trial. Liv curls her legs up on the couch, resting her head in Barba's lap, sighing contentedly when he runs his fingers through her hair.   
"It'll be fine, right?" She whispers. He groans.   
"I hope so, or I'm gonna end up in the shit over in Queens." She laughs despite it all. 

They fall asleep like that, his hand tangled with hers, curled around her stomach. 

_________________________________

Summations are intense, Olivia squirms in the gallery, nestled between Carisi and Amaro. Barba's renowned (and oft-mocked) Ivy-League oratory never fails to impress her, though she rarely admits that to him or anyone else. 

They go back to their respective offices after the jury leaves for deliberations. She feels like she's staring down a brick wall, she's so nervous about the outcome of the case that she can't be productive, she just sits in her office, tapping her pen and staring at the wall. She texts Barba. He's apparently doing the opposite, getting through as much work as possible. They're similar in terms of pathology in that regard, in any other situation she'd be doing the exact same thing, but now she's stalled. 

The jury comes back quickly. Too quickly: they've barely been out seven hours. She fidgets the whole way to the courthouse, twisting a pen between her fingers and tapping her fingers against her thigh. When she sees him, Barba looks just as fidgety as her, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You good, counsellor?" She asks, keeping a carefully-measured distance away from him.   
"Yeah, it's fun to face the firing squad." He says, bitterly. 

She swears she doesn't breathe the entire half an hour before the jury foreman speaks. She can feel her heart doing double time as she waits. She never gets this anxious over verdicts, but there's just so much more riding on this one. She's so focused on how anxious she is that she almost misses it when the foreman says "guilty." There's rustling and whispering in the gallery and she feels a wave of relief rush over her, like a burst of cool air. 

Barba turns to look at her. It's subtle, no one would notice it if they hadn't been looking at it. He's not smiling, but she can tell he wants to be. Once the judge remands Trujillo and Simpson to Rikers until sentencing, the whole court room seems to stand at once. Barba comes over the where the squad is sitting, Reynolds in tow.   
"Great job, counsellors," she says, lightly knocking Barba on the arm, like a football coach to a player. 

They file out of the courthouse, and Barba slows up to walk next to Olivia. "Let's make some time," he practically growls in her ear, and it brings her straight to attention. She checks her watch, desperate to look casual.   
"I've still got Lucy with Noah for another two hours." He smirks, but his eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide. 

They get a cab to his apartment – they rarely go to his apartment – and the whole time his hand rests dangerously high up her thigh. He presses kisses to the column of her neck, and she's barely able to keep her breath steady. It feels like they're teenagers after prom, heady with new love and new freedoms. 

She pins him against the wall of the elevator in his building, pressing her hips against his, keeping him deeply. The elevator dings and opens at his floor, they're both flushed and anyone who saw them would know what they're leading up to, but she doesn't care. She catches her breath as he fumbles with his keys, slamming the door behind them. He pushes her against the door, and she grabs his hips, holding him to her. 

As he kisses his way down from just beneath her ear to her collarbone, she leans her head against the door, breathing heavily. "What was your moment?" she asks huskily, barely holding on to coherency.   
"What do you mean?" He asks, kissing her quickly.   
"When was your moment that you realised you wanted this?" She gestures between them. He pulls her backward by the button of her pants. 

His apartment is small with a very traditional feel to it. The original cast iron radiators still stand against warm off-white wallpaper lines by dark mahogany bookshelves. He's got so many books that the first time she came over to his place she earnestly didn't believe he'd read half of them. His bedroom is warm, with a mahogany sleigh bed that matches his bookshelves and the writing desk that backs against his window. His window looks out over Tompkins Square Park, partially eclipsed by a tenement building in front of his. The view isn't unimpressive considering his government salary. 

Because of Noah, they usually spend time at her place, but they come over to his when they want a quick fuck where they don't have to worry about noise. She feels her chest heating up as he pulls her to his bedroom. She feels a little too much like Pavlov's dog.

"Do you want to know the moment I wanted you, or the moment I wanted us?" He asks, pushing her down onto the bed. She shrugs nonchalantly, "I like the sound of the first one."   
"You remember the West Side Romeo and Juliet case? The one with BX9?" He asks, altogether too comfortably as he pulls his suit jacket and vest off.  
"Yeah, wow, that was a while ago," she says, lifting her head off the bed to watch him pull his tie off. The silk slides against his neck, and she can hear the pulling where it scratches against his stubble. 

"You remember when their OG threatened you?" She nods. "You got up in his face, told him to try you, that you had the biggest gang in the city to back you up. It was scary, I'm not gonna lie, but the way you flipped the tables on him, stared him in the face and said 'fuck you' turned me on like nothing I've ever seen before," she starts laughing at how pained he looks telling her it. "I'm still ashamed of it," he says, looking very ashamed. It's endearing, the way he looks so genuine with his shirt hanging half off him, one of his suspenders hanging down by his thigh. 

"And when was the moment you knew you wanted us?" She whispers, reaching out her hand for him. He takes it, climbing over her on the bed. "The moment I woke up the first morning after we spent the night together. You were still asleep, your breathing so calm. It was the most relaxed I'd ever seen you, and I knew I didn't want that to be the last time."  
"How romantic," she laughs, leaning up to kiss him. "Now do me a favour and fuck me."  
"I thought you'd never ask," he says, his voice cracking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in such a rut with this chapter that I accidentally went ahead and wrote a lot for the upcoming ones, which should speed the process up somewhat. However I am starting a new job, and depending on how my schedule works out I may have to slow output in general. We'll see!

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Run" by Vampire Weekend. Usual disclaimers: none of the characters are mine, regardless of how much I wish they were.


End file.
